


(our) love is a monster

by jediseagull



Series: love ain't nothing [1]
Category: Hockey RPF, Iskryne Series - Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, INTENSE AND ETERNAL SHAME THAT I'M EVEN USING THESE TAGS, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychic Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jediseagull/pseuds/jediseagull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is not that Zhenya's wolf knows what she wants.</p><p>The problem is <i>who</i> she wants.</p><p>(If he can't look Sidney Crosby in the eye without blushing it's going to be a very long season.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(our) love is a monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artifx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artifx/gifts).



> Happy (slightly belated) Valentine's Day to [artifx](http://fxraarfx.tumblr.com), who said that I should write this story as the plot-free smut it was meant to be, rather than the platonic cuddling political conspiracy I tried to turn it into.
> 
> I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF.
> 
> Title, as you may have guessed, from Coleman Hell's "2 Heads" - AKA the song which lent lyrics to Sid/Geno graphics across the Internet.

_Him_ , Varya thinks decisively. Zhenya looks at the slight, dust-brown wolf standing in the palatial entryway to the Lemieux mansion, and feels his eyebrows rise.

_Him?_

_Well_ , Varya thinks, every inch of her focused and intent. _Them_.

Standing on the other side of his wolf, Sidney Crosby extends his hand, smiling shyly. “Hi,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 _Yes,_ Varya thinks, staring at Crosby’s brother like she wants to eat him whole. _Yes_ , _it really_ is.

 _Shut up_ , Zhenya thinks desperately, and takes Crosby’s hand. The moment they touch, he feels himself shudder with distinctly wolfish desire.

Oh God.

Even so, he wants to believe that he’ll be able to get away with it. They’ll go back to Russia in the offseason, Varya will find a nice, Russian wolf with a brother Zhenya never has to see again to get through her heat with, and that will be the end of her strange fixation.

And, hopefully, Zhenya’s.

 _You’re not even_ in _heat_ , he snaps through the bond the first time the Pens win a game. He can’t even look at Sid right now, sweaty and bright-eyed with happiness, without getting flashes of all the things Varya wants from Moth. _Stop it!_

Varya just laughs at him, because the only time she does what he tells her to is when it’s what she’s planned on doing anyways.

At least Sid’s oblivious. He doesn’t mention Zhenya avoiding eye contact after they win, or Varya routinely bullying the other wolves out of the way so she can curl up next to Moth. For his part, Moth doesn’t ever shun the affection, but he’s not exactly reciprocating either. God, maybe Sid and his brother are just trying to let them down gently; he’s not looking forward to explaining _that_ in the throes of Varya’s heat.

Embarrassment aside, though, Zhenya can’t regret the decisions that have brought them to Pittsburgh. As the season progresses, it becomes more and more apparent that they’re doing what they came here to do. They’re playing good hockey - sometimes even _great_ hockey, better than anything he’s ever done before.

Unfortunately, that ‘sometimes’ doesn’t include tonight. He can’t believe they lost in a shootout to the Devils. It was a game that shouldn’t have even gotten to overtime, and now, in the beginning of March, they’re out of a playoffs spot.

The irritation boils under his skin, but it’s not until Wheeler sneezes once, twice, whining and pawing at her muzzle, that Zhenya thinks to look for Varya.

“ _Shitfucking_ -” Colby stands, cupping both hands around his mouth so he can bellow, “Make a hole!”

 _Oh_ , Zhenya thinks. _So much for that nice Russian wolf._

Seryozha is at his elbow in an instant, towing him along with a firm command for Yel to wait _._ “Heat-room,” he says, and Zhenya is grateful that he doesn’t have to rely on Varya to translate; at the moment, when she’s thrumming with the anticipation of what’s to come, he’s not entirely sure she _would_. “Now.”

The halls are clear, and they make it to the heat-room in mere minutes. But instead of closing the door that will seal Zhenya and his sister off from the pack sense, Seryozha pauses at the threshold. “Zhenya -” Varya pushes a scent name through the pack sense so strongly Zhenya nearly chokes on the smell of snow-covered leather, and even Seryozha winces. “Nevermind. I’ll go tell Sid, unless - do you want suppressors?”

Shit. _Shit_. He hadn’t considered -

There’s a question Varya asked him, right before they slipped away from the rest of the team - the wolves who were the only pack she’d ever known - to hide in an airport bathroom. _Do you want this?_

“Yes,” he’d said, and she had followed him.

 _Hey_ , he thinks at her, kneeling on the padded floor so that they can be eye to eye. She’s nearly shaking, but she comes to stand in front of him anyways, bumping his nose with her own. _Do you want this?_

A rush of wordless affirmation floods the bond. On its heels there’s a memory of being small and fragile and half-blind, being lifted with impossible tenderness by huge hands.

She is as sure now as she was three years ago, when she knew from their first meeting that he would be her brother.

Zhenya looks up, meeting Seryozha’s worried gaze. “No suppressors,” he says.

He can’t guarantee that Sid will come. He can’t guarantee that Moth will be interested.

But he can do this much for her.

He strips. The heat-room is right over the boiler, and so it’s a comfortable five degrees warmer than the rest of the arena, but he still shivers at the first drip of lube on his fingertips.

Prep is more awkward than he thought it would be. He’s had sex before - both ways - but he’s never had three fingers in his own ass while Varya paces jittery circles around him, every spark of his own pleasure only building her frustration up further.

The knock at the door startles them both.

There are no windows in the heat-room, only an unobtrusive panic button in case of emergency. It could be anyone outside - it could be Seryozha, back to tell them that they would have to take suppressants after all.

And yet some of Varya’s certainty must be catching, because when the door swings tentatively open, he’s not at all surprised to see Sid and Moth on the other side of it.

Sid goes furiously, brilliantly red, even as Moth bounds forward, and Zhenya manages to choke on a laugh through the fog of _now, NOW_. Modesty has no place here.

“Clothes,” he says, though it comes out garbled. “Fast.”

“Okay,” Sid breathes, dropping to his knees. Zhenya’s awareness narrows down to each newly revealed inch of skin until Sid is naked too, and then -

Other brothers of bitches have told him that the first time going into heat without suppressants feels like a lightning strike, but that’s not it at all. It’s not a sudden shift so much as the inexorable pull of a riptide, dragging him deeper and deeper until the last traces of sunlight vanish and all he can do is _want_.

Sid’s hands burn where they touch him, but then Sid is pulling away, leaving him cold despite the fever in his blood. Zhenya groans. “I’m -” Sid says, and then gives up words as a bad job entirely, shoving the image of a foil packet through the pack sense. Fine. He wants protection, they’ll use protection. Zhenya rips the packet from his hands, and Sid’s yelp of surprise turns into a moan when Zhenya rolls the condom onto his dick.

“Geno,” Sid says.

Across the room, he can feel Varya blazing with triumph, and he knows they’re out of time. He puts his hands on Sid’s shoulders and shoves, pushing him onto his back so that Zhenya can sink down on him and _oh_ , there’s the promised lightning. The fullness he feels goes beyond physical, the sensation of four bodies in perfect sync electrifying him. He grinds down - or Sid thrusts up - and they both groan.

Zhenya opens his eyes without realizing he’d ever closed them, and finds Sid staring back, eyes just as wide, mouth parting on little heaving gasps. It seems such a shame not to kiss him then that Zhenya can’t keep himself from leaning forward. He has to drop his head to Sid’s collarbone to pant for a moment when the change in angle makes Sid’s cock bump his prostate, his own dick caught between their bodies for brief moments of teasing friction.

Sid’s lips are so very soft when Zhenya finally finds them. He could stay here forever, he thinks, and if Varya is exultant than Zhenya is no less so. He thinks he’ll never feel better than this - until Sid plants his feet and uses every ounce of power in his ridiculous glutes to roll his hips upward.

Zhenya can’t stop the noise he makes at that. It’s _so good_ , but there’s something about the rhythm of Sid’s thrusts that -

 _Skate, skate_ , he thinks nonsensically, and feels, more than sees, Sid’s mouth lift into a crooked grin against his own.

Sid gives him back the weight of Zhenya on his thighs tangled with the mental picture of watching Zhenya crush someone else into the boards, _good big body presence._ Zhenya would laugh if he could, but every time he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is a hitching _“_ Ah _h,_ ” each thrust shuddering through him.

Sid looks politely smug when he catches _that_ thought. The expression seems wrong for a shared heat, but professional hockey players are incurably competitive, and as far as Sid’s concerned, getting Zhenya off is the heat-room equivalent of scoring a goal.

Well, Zhenya’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Sid’s not the only one who can score.

He waits for the next thrust to clench down, and if he moans a little at the drag as Sid withdraws, it’s nothing compared to the punched-out sound that comes out of Sid.

 _You first_ , Sid thinks stubbornly, more the meaning of it than actual words, but really, for someone who’s going to be captain he’s being incredibly forgetful.

Zhena lets the memory bloom up in crisp detail. The smell of equipment. The rocking balance of skate blades on carpet.

Sid, confused and anxious and cautiously pleased, making a new tradition with Zhenya - _for_ Zhenya.

Hey, it worked once.

But Sid just narrows his eyes, letting go of Zhenya’s hips with one hand so that he can bring it between their mouths and lick his palm. Zhenya can’t even complain that they’re not kissing. Each brisk swipe of Sid’s tongue goes right to Zhenya’s gut, all the hotter because Sid’s too impatient to touch him to make a show out of it.

Sid doesn’t stop fucking him, either, and oh, God, competitive spirit or not, he’s coming _now_ , caught between the relentless drive of Sid’s cock and the grip of his hand. He has time to hope that Varya and Moth are going to hit their own lull soon, and then he’s covering Sid’s hand and chest with messy spurts, spine collapsing from the force of his orgasm.

Sid grunts as Zhenya lands across his ribcage, but not as much as he does when Zhenya finds his collarbone and _bites_. He comes like that, hips shoving upwards erratically as Zhenya leaves one perfect, purple bruise on his shoulder.

After a moment, Sid bats at him, and Zhenya obligingly rolls off so they can lay side by side and catch their breath before the wolves start round two. He doesn’t quite make it all way clear, but Sid doesn’t protest, and Zhenya can’t be bothered to move.

They’re sticky with bodily fluids and the padded floor smells like hospital disinfectant, but Sid’s arm is warm underneath his. Every time he inhales, he can feel Sid’s fingers brush his side.

 _Ours_ , Varya tells him smugly.

 _Yes,_ Zhenya thinks. _Ours_.

At least for today. 

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found (and frequently pestered into writing more) on [Tumblr](http://jedi-seagull.tumblr.com).


End file.
